


Bigger

by pinky_heaven19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Songfic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinky_heaven19/pseuds/pinky_heaven19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a lot of unresolved feelings when Sherlock comes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigger

**Author's Note:**

> This is a song fic, based on the Backstreet Boys' song Bigger.

John sighed. A deep, heavy sigh with his eyes closed. He got up and blew the candles that were neatly arranged on the table, along with delicious food he had spent the entire afternoon cooking. It was cold now and John couldn't force himself to even take a bite. Sherlock was not coming.

He wasn't mad. He'd been mad before, on several occasions, but now he was just – the cliché is true – disappointed. Mostly because he thought Sherlock would really show up this time. He'd looked terribly sorry the last time he forgot. Not sorry enough, apparently.

As upset as he was, John was a practical man, so he carefully wrapped and stored the food for the next day, put the candles away and finished doing the dishes he'd started when he realized he was done early, when he was still sure that Sherlock would come that time. He'd promised he would, after all.

John went to his empty bed with an empty stomach and a full mind. Why did he insist on these things? He knew perfectly well that Sherlock was the sound example of a person who is the complete opposite of romantic, but he couldn't help it. He always made an effort for people he loved, that was his way of showing affection, and it was usually very well received. Usually being the key word here.

He stared at his phone, considering sending Sherlock a message. An angry one. But he didn't, of course. The rational part of his brain knew that being caught up in some experiment or case and forgetting about the world was part of Sherlock just being Sherlock. He wouldn't have the man any other way, it was just the way he was, but still. Come on.

When Sherlock came back into his life, two years after his fake suicide, John received him with open arms. Well, not the first couple of weeks, but after that he couldn't get enough of being around the detective. Compensating for the lost time, he thought, as they spent every waking moment together.

In time, this completely irrational obsession faded, and they were back to their normal. Sherlock had invited John to move back to Baker Street countless times, but John thought it was best for them to have some time apart, and kept living in his small flat. Now he regretted it. At least in Baker Street he would be around Sherlock, even if he wasn't paying attention to him.

If only this had been the first time.

John had very high expectations for a particular date, a few months ago. It was a beautiful day, warm sun and a cool breeze. Sherlock was behaving quite obnoxiously, bored out of his mind.

“I'll only have to work until two in the afternoon today”, John had said as he left for work, having spent the night with Sherlock, “Why don't we go out and do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know... a picnic, maybe.”

Shelock looked like he was going to say something but thought better of it and just agreed.

John had gone all out. He'd made small ham and cheese sandwiches, had bought fruit, a coconut pound cake, biscuits and two types of grape juice – Sherlock could be as picky as a child when it came to food.

He arranjed everything hastily so he wouldn' be late and found a beautiful spot under a tree to wait for Sherlock. And wait he did. For almost an hour, before he sent Sherlock a message.

_Where are you?_

_At Barts. Why?_

_Why? Really?_

_Yes, why do you want to know where I am?_

_Never mind_

_Do you need something?_

“Just my bloody boyfriend's company”, he'd murmured to himself, and sent no more texts that day. Sherlock never remembered it and John never brought it up. He had been stood up by Sherlock more times than he could count, even when he was at Baker Street. Tea with Mrs Hudson had become common.

It seemed like this was their new dynamic. They'd only see each other at Baker Street and only when John visited, which he was welcome to do any time he pleased. The only times Sherlock would call to ask for his company was to go with him to solve a case. They hadn't lost that, and John loved it. He managed to convince himself that this was all he needed, but only for so long.

The last straw happened a couple of weeks after Sherlock had forgotten about yet another date. John was out with his friends playing rugby, which Sherlock deemed a primate sport, but didn't object John going. He did it mostly to be with different people, and it was good exercise.

That's what he thought before he stubbed his toe so hard he saw white spots in his sight. He fell immediately and needed help to even get in a cab to go to the hospital. He knew, by the unnatural swelling, that his big toe was broken, but the pain was now bearable and he was on his feet when he walked through the emergency room door. Limping, but up on his own.

– It's fine, Rick. Go on, go home – he said to his friend – It's getting dark.

– I'll stay with you until a doctor sees you.

– No need to. I know it's broken but they'll insist on x-rays, putting on a cast and everything. It can take hours, go home. I'll take a cab.

– You shouldn't leave the hospital alone.

– I won't, I'm calling somebody right away – he said as he fished his phone out of his pocket, breathing a sign of relief that it was intact. That convinced Rick, who left at the same time John dialed Sherlock's number.

– Hello, John.

God, just hearing that voice made his pain fade.

– Hey, Sherlock.

– Shouldn't you be playing?

– How do you know I'm not?

– Well, you're breathing quite normally.

John wasn't offended.

– I'm at the hospital, actually.

– What happened? - he loved the worried tone on Sherlock's voice.

– Stubbed my toe pretty hard. I think it's broken.

– To see if it's broken all you have to do is...

– I'm a doctor, I know how to see if it's broken.

– Right. Of course.

Silence.

– What are you up to? - John finally said, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

– Finishing up that sodium chloride experiment.

– I see.

– Hum, do you want me to come there with you? Is that why you called?

– No, er...Yes, I called you to tell you I'm in the hospital, but you don't have to come if you don't want to.

– I'm in a crucial part of the experiment, I could lose the work I've done all day.

– Yes, no, I mean, you finish your experiment.

– Come to Baker Street when you leave the hospital.

– Sure, it might take a while.

– I'll still be up, I'm sure.

– Ok, well. Good luck with the experiment.

– Good luck getting your foot in a cast.

And that was it. No “feel better”, no “Oh my God are you okay?”, no “I'll be there in ten minutes”. John was pissed.

The truth was, he didn't want to go through this alone. It was silly, really, but he kind of wanted someone to be there with him. So he called Greg.

It rang a few times before he picked it up.

– Inspector Lestrade.

– Greg, hi.

– Hey, John.

– Uh, are you terribly busy?

Greg hesitated for a few seconds. John heard the clatter of dishes.

– You are. You're in the middle of dinner. I'm sorry, I'll...

– No, no. What is it?

– Well, I'm at the hospital and...

– Oh God, are you alright?

John smiled. See, that was all he wanted to hear. Right sentence, wrong person.

– I am, just a stubbed toe. They'll see me soon, but...

– What hospital are you at? I'm leaving now – and John could hear the dragging of chairs, a woman's voice asking him something.

John felt immensely thankful when Greg showed up just as he was leaving the x-ray room and getting ready to be fixed. The doctor manually pulled his toe back into place and John had to bite his lips not to scream. Greg was standing in the corner of the room, but he talked to John the whole time to distract him. He also let John support his weight on him when they walked out of the hospital, John wearing an orthopedic boot.

– So, back to your place? Or Baker Street? - he asked John when they were in his car.

– I don't know – and he really didn't.

– Well, I'll drive around a bit until you make up your mind.

– Thanks. Thanks for coming here and helping me.

– Don't mention it.

– No, really. You were in the middle of a date, weren't you?

– It wasn't going very well anyway.

– I appreciate it. You're a very good friend. Better than my own boyfriend – John sulked, unable to help himself.

– Sherlock can be a prick, but he really cares about you.

John groaned.

– He does, he just doesn't show it all of the time.

– Well, apparently a stupid experiment is more important than me, so I don't know. I want to go to Baker Street.

– Are you sure? You sound a little mad...

– Well I _am_ mad. He couldn't get his bloody arse out of a chair to go to the hospital to his boyfriend. I have every right to be mad.

– Won't argue with that – Greg said, and fell silent as they neared 221B.

– Thanks again, Greg. Remind me to pay you a nice drink next time we go out.

– I will. Need help getting up the stairs?

– I'm fine. Bye.

He waved goodbye and started walking into 221B. He supported the heel of his boot-covered foot and realized it wasn't so painful anymore. The meds were kicking in, finally. It took him a couple of minutes to go up the stairs to the flat and when John was about to touch the doorknob, Sherlock opened it.

– You're angry – were the first words out of his mouth.

– No shit, Sherlock – John said under his breath as he walked in the flat, who smelled heavily of something citric.

– How is your toe?

– Still in place.

– Does it hurt?

– Not so much now, no.

Sherlock was awkwardly standing next to him, and when he streched out his hand to touch John, he moved away.

– John, I understand that you're mad at me and I have...

– Oh, you don't understand – John said, his voice flat – You think you do, but you don't.

– John, if...

– Stop talking. Just stop talking, Sherlock.

– Sorry – he said, and John was pissed because Sherlock _did_ look like he was sorry.

– You being sorry doesn't change anything. Sherlock, I called you from the damn hospital and you didn't care!

– Of course I cared.

– You didn't, because if you had, you would have been there with me.

– You said it yourself that you had a minor injury and that I didn't need to go.

– And you _always_ listen to what I say, don't you?

– You're starting to scream, John.

– Am I? - and he realized he was. He also realized he didn't care.

– Please, sit – Sherlock said – Your foot must be hurting you.

– Will you stop trying to be nice? It doesn't suit you.

He saw the flick of hurt in Sherlock's deep eyes, and he relished in it. He wasn't one to lie to himself, and he was too angry to apologize.

– I'm sorry, John. I am.

– What are you sorry for, Sherlock? Huh? For leaving me at the hospital now or for the other countless times you weren't there for me? For always standing me up and making promises you can't keep?

– I admit I haven't been the best example of caring boyfriend, but...

– Great! So you know you're not being good to me and you keep on doing it? Well now I feel super appreciated.

– Is that the problem? You feel like I don't appreciate you?

Sherlock's calm tone was driving John up the wall.

– You wanna know what the problem is? The fucking problem is that you left me, OK? You led me to believe you were dead and you left me!

The room was dead silent.

– You know why I did it. I had to do it, to protect you and...

– I know that! I know! You've told me this a million times before, but that doesn't change the fact that you completely and utterly broke my heart. No, I stand corrected. You shattered it into a million tiny pieces which I honestly thought I would never be able to put together again.

Sherlock looked down.

– Look at me! - John screamed – I know you had your reasons but for years I thought you were dead. You think you understand how hard it was for me, but you don't! You don't. You have no idea. For two goddman years grief washed over me in big, painful waves that I had to ride alone. Suddenly, I didn't have you anymore. How could I go on knowing that?

Miraculously, Sherlock kept his gaze on John's.

– When you came back, I... I can't even begin to explain to you how I felt. I was so relieved and so blissfully _happy_. But you...it was a normal transition to you.

– Never, I...

– Fine, it was easier for you than for me, then. I understand that, you knew all along that I was fine and waiting for you, while I mourned and cursed you for what you did. But you're here now and you act like this time never happened. You act as if you hadn't completely disappeared from my life. Jesus, Sherlock, you should be fighting to win me back to you! And you don't, you make no effort whatsoever to show that you are sorry for what you've put me through. You don't even acknowledge that. You treat me as a friend on a good day and on a bad one you treat me like a fuck buddy who you just use as a stress relief to help you solve cases.

– John, I don't know what to say – and he looked baffled. It was a rare occurance.

– As usual – John said and stormed off the flat. It was the most ridiculous exit with the awkward limping, but it got him away from Sherlock.

John was still shaking when he got to his own flat, his blood boiling as he slowly got ready for bed. Adrenaline had numbed his toe completely, a feeling he was used to when he was in the army. It was impossible for him to sleep as he re-lived the fight again and again in his mind. Well, it hadn't been an actual fight, he had been the only one angry. And rightfully so!

But as morning came he found himself thinking maybe he had overreacted. True, he had all reasons to be upset with Sherlock, but he should have known better. Sherlock could be very smart, but he didn't interpret some things very well and he wasn't a mind reader. How could he have known how upset John was since John had never told him anything? John always acted like it didn't bother him and now he expected Sherlock to have known something was wrong from the start.

“Why did I have to find myself such a complicated partner....”, he mumbled as he showered pathetically in a chair as to not get that stupid boot wet. After breakfast and painkillers, he called work explaining why he couldn't make it there today and kept his phone in his hand, contemplating calling Sherlock. He knew he would, so might as well just get it over with.

The phone rang. And rang and rang with no answer. What, was Sherlock ignoring him now? John pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to stay calm. Maybe Sherlock just wasn't by the phone. Nonsense, Sherlock never parted with that thing. He held on until mid morning before he couldn't any longer and left for Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson wasn't there, and John found the flat empty. He sat on the couch and decided to wait. He caught a pillow and pressed it against his face, smelling the faint scent of Sherlock's shampoo. He knew Sherlock almost never slept on his own bed when John wasn't there. This relaxed him more and he didn't look as upset when Sherlock opened the door and stopped on the threshold with his mouth open. He was carrying a bag of groceries and John almost smiled at the normality of it.

– John. What are you doing here? - he said, putting the bag on the floor and walking towards him, who stood up.

– You weren't answering your phone so I decided to... drop by.

– But...why? - Sherlock looked utterly confused.

– I wanted to talk to you.

– At the risk of sounding incredibly repetitive, why? I don't understand.

– Well, I'm not happy with how the conversation went last night and I wanted to talk to you about it.

– John...I don't know what to say. I wasn't expecting you to come back. Ever.

– Don't be stupid – John said – I was angry, yes, but of course I would come back. Why wouldn't I?

– Well... - Sherlock said, ruffling his hair – First off, I can't keep a promise and I'm no one to count on at all. Add on that I'm a coward, too scared to even return your calls this morning.

– Sherlock, listen...

– No, let me talk. I've been thinking about it. I'm known for being a liar, and they're usually blacker than white. Not to mention my uncanny ego. You know very well that no one is less humble than I.

– Yes, that's all true – John said. He couldn't bear to see the sorrow in Sherlock's eyes.

– So you understand why I'm surprised you're here.

– You can be surprised all you want, but I'm still here.

– You keep sticking around.

– I do. Sherlock, you've messed up more times than I can count, but none of that changes how I feel about you.

Something clicked in Sherlock's mind.

– Of course you know all this, you've lived with me, you know how I am. And yet, here you are. You're a much bigger person than I am.

– I have to compensate in character what I lack in physical height – John said, lightly. He liked this conversation much better. He stepped closer to Sherlock.

– John, I hope you believe me when I say I truly am sorry about what I've put you through. And you're right. I haven't been doing enough. But I'll measure up to you, believe me.

– I always do – he said, and he meant it.

– Before you have enough of me, I'll make it all up to you.

– Good.

– And I should start now – he said, and caught John in a kiss that left him dizzy.

– That doesn't solve all our problems, but it's a start – John said when they pulled apart. Sherlock smiled and all was right in the world again.

– The best way to start this is to stop this nonsense of living in seperate flats. Move back in with me. We'll have separate rooms if you want, but your place is here.

– You've turned my old room into a small lab.

– Well I guess we'll have to share, then.

John was so relieved he had to sit down, and he pulled Sherlock down on the couch with him.

– I said some horrible things last night that I didn't mean – John started.

– I deserved to hear all of them.

– Just... just promise you'll keep your feet planted firmly on the ground from now on.

Sherlock smiled.

– I have all intentions of keeping that promise.


End file.
